


Happy Noises

by karmascars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmascars/pseuds/karmascars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas overhears a conversation during one of Dean's escapades, and when explaining the concept doesn't work, Dean has to show him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Noises

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: You know how the shorter stories always invade when you're trying to work on a long one? That's what happened here. This is a little silly, but I hope you enjoy it.

After the brothers separated, Dean (when he wasn't working) occupied himself with drinking and sex. He never let the effects of one wear off before getting his next dose of the other, living in a perpetual haze. He tried not to let his mind wander too freely. It would always circle back around to Sam.

The demon blood was one thing, but when his baby brother left him to rot and actually hiked off with that bitch Ruby, that was when Dean began to think that the growing distance between them might separate them for good. After the whole Lillith debacle, everything was frenzied and confused. There was no time to dwell on their differences. But the lack of trust was palpable. And why should he trust him? Sam had thrown his lot in with them.

That was the part where Dean always knocked back another beer, another shot. His own brother. Picked a demon, over him.

Then, after that whole mess with War, Sam decided that they were better off alone. 

After a few more drinks, Dean would usually admit to himself that he'd been a little hard on Sammy after the final seal. His lines about spending too much time worrying, that it was better if Sam took some time... all bullshit. He even offered his brother the Impala, as the most convincing part of the show. Truth was, as he drove from job to job, a part of him was missing without his brother in the passenger seat. 

But damn it, if he couldn't be trusted, why should he be treated like he could?

So Dean ganked and drank and fucked his way across America. Because monsters needed ganking, and life was just too damn stupid to live sober.

Cas was no help, either. The apocalypse had taught the angel many things, and none of them good. His rebellion brought out a part of him that he had yet to come to grips with, and his belief, his insistence that he'd done it all for Dean only served to fuel his zealous confusion. 

Their encounter with Raphael had frightened him. Dean wasn't even sure if the angel knew what fear was, let alone how to deal with it. He spent his time searching for different answers; staunchly, even fanatically refusing to consider that Lucifer was the source of his resurrection, that God may well be dead.

Dean knew how to deal with fear: repress it. Squash it into a singularity and bury it beneath sensations of the here and now. For example, the buzz he'd been nursing and the supple form of a willing woman.

His latest conquest, a brunette whose name he simply could not remember -- something with a D -- stood in the doorway of her bedroom wearing a tightly wrapped silk robe. Dean grinned up at her as he tugged on his socks. He knew from experience that his grins were to girls what fire was to wax, and sure enough, her hips jutted to the side and she smiled. "Are you sure you have to go?" she asked almost petulantly.

"You know how it is, sweetheart," Dean said in a cavalier tone, standing. She'd made him leave his boots by the front door, and the expensive carpet squished nicely underneath his sock-clad toes. He sauntered up to her, turned up the smolder a bit, and swept her into his arms. "Duty calls," he said with his best serious face, then ruined it by swooping in and nibbling her neck. She shrieked, laughing, slapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. "Dean!" she scolded, her voice low. "We'll wake Jaime."

Dean pulled a hang-dog, chastised expression that just made her swat at him playfully. He ducked, and they scurried down the hall in a mock slap-fight. They almost tumbled down the stairs, sliding to the landing, breathless but still laughing. Dean caught her up against the wall in a heart-stopping kiss, loving the way she responded.

_Yeah, this is the way to live._

He swatted her bottom when she proceeded him down the stairs. "I'm going to make some decaf," she said. "D'you want some?" He said that he would, and went to the foyer, intending to pull his boots on. Then a sudden idea struck him, and he tiptoed toward the kitchen. Scaring her was childish, sure -- but he liked the way she squealed.

He was just around the corner when a young voice made him stop still. "I'm glad you like that man, Mommy," it said. Dean realized the speaker must be D-lady's son Jaime. 

"You should go back to bed, Jaime," D said in a mother's long-suffering tone.

"But you do like him! I heard you making happy noises. When--"

"Jaime, I said bed," D said firmly, shock and a little embarrassment coloring her voice. Dean snuck back to the front door, amused, and set about noisily putting his boots on. D met him there, her expression exasperated.

"Here you go." She handed him a travel mug full of hot coffee. She smiled as he hefted the mug, raised an eyebrow. "That's so you'll have an excuse to come back."

Looking at her, Dean couldn't resist. "'Happy noises?'" he asked, sipping the coffee. 

A blush spread over her nose and cheeks. It was cute. "You heard that, huh?"

He smiled, trying for encouragement, and reached out to rub her shoulder. The sudden sadness in her eyes sent pangs of recognition shooting through his chest. It was the way Sam had looked at him, sometimes.

She sighed. "When Jaime was younger, when his father was still alive, we would... well, the bedrooms in the old house were all squashed together and one night I just couldn't keep quiet. Jaime came in, wondering what was going on, and we told him that Daddy made Mommy very happy, and those were Mommy's happy noises." Her voice caught. "Those were the days."

Sad for her and supremely uncomfortable, Dean pulled her into a hug. "I'm... glad I made you happy, even if it was only for a little while."

She pulled away and nodded sadly, biting her lip. Dean, wishing they could have parted under less buzz-killing circumstances, said good night and strolled off in the general direction of the main thoroughfare, and his motel.

When he later wondered why he didn't just stay the night with sad, sweet D, he realized that it was because the rest of the night had always been fated to happen.

He sauntered along, sipping his coffee, recalling the finer points of earlier events and grinning to himself. The air was sweet and just on the cool side of humid, and insects sang from the shadowed trees. Dean savored the ambiance as he walked, shoving the sad parts of his encounter into his box of repression and forcing himself to consider it a night well spent.

It wasn't until he passed beneath a rogue streetlight that he realized Castiel was walking beside him. His heart thudded in shock and he staggered to the side. "Cas --" he gasped, "how many times. Don't just appear--"

Castiel's face was a portrait of deep confusion, and he looked so profoundly lost that Dean cut off, stopped walking. Studied him.

"Cas?"

The angel turned on his heel, like a toy soldier, and cocked his head to the side. "I don't understand that concept," he said, his voice the same careful, graveled tones as always.

"Well, it's simple," Dean said testily, "don't just sneak up on--"

"If the sounds she made were supposed to convey her happiness, then why did she scream?" Castiel's eyes were wide and he was dead serious. "Is that not a way that humans express extreme pain?"

Dean blinked. Let that sink in. 

The last time he saw Cas, they were both scared, and both denying it. He'd been feeding the angel a line about being happier alone, but when Cas vacated the Impala he'd felt nothing but regret. 

That felt like a lifetime ago.

He blinked again. Decided the best option was outrage.

"You were _spying_ on me?"

Castiel stared at him levelly. "I was attempting to understand your human customs. When you took me to that d-- that place, with the women, I obviously did not know the proper... And I haven't...." He cleared his throat, a very human thing to do. "What I mean to say is that I am willing to learn. And your life is, quite frankly, more interesting than Sam or Bobby's."

"Yeah, I'll bet... but listen, Cas, just because you don't understand something, doesn't give you the right to--"

"Do not you humans learn through observation?"

Dean sighed, dragging a hand over his face. "I don't want to argue with you about this, Cas... just, let's lay down one really simple ground rule." He jabbed a finger at the angel. "If I am engaged in certain activities, then you bug the fuck off! No watching! I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you. Whole new level of weird."

Then: “Wait, how did you find me? I thought --”

Castiel made a face. “I remembered you using GPS --” he said the letters carefully, “-- to track your brother's phone. I managed to do the same with yours. It was... an interesting experience.” He'd nearly botched it. Modern technology just wasn't angel-friendly.

All Dean could say was “Oh”. He searched for something more, but that was it.

They walked a ways in silence, the rise and fall of insect cadences accompanying their steps. Then, Castiel: "You never answered my question."

Dean growled in frustration. "It's... just something women do, okay? When they... feel good." He jammed his hands in his jacket pockets, feeling uncomfortable and way too sober. He'd never had a reason to analyze his or anyone's sexual encounters; they had always just... happened. And explaining things he didn't rightly understand himself to someone who didn't even have a prior concept of, well, anything, was more than a little beyond his comfort zone.

Castiel internalized the new information for a moment. "What about men?" he asked after a moment. "I have heard them make sounds during 'certain activities' as well." _Anyone else would say that with a leer in their voice, but not Cas_ , a small part of Dean marveled. The rest of him desperately wanted a drink.

They reached the motel then, thankfully, and Dean decided that a few shots were in order before he had to answer any more questions. Castiel sat straight-backed on the bed, like usual -- he never seemed to choose a chair if there was a bed in the room -- and waited while Dean renewed his buzz.

The hunter was contemplating downing the entire bottle when Castiel spoke up again. "I am sorry that my desire to learn has made you so uncomfortable." 

His face... he really did look forlorn, the way his forehead crinkled – were his eyes a little wet? Dean did chug the bottle, then, but there was more in there than he thought, and so it wasn't until he was done choking that he could answer, with a slight slur: "I just don't know how I can explain it so you'll understand."

"You could show me."

Dean stared, his mind whirling and going nowhere. He turned away, found another bottle. He was surprised to see his hand shaking. "No, I don't think so," he said gruffly, twisting open the liquor and downing some. "I am not letting you watch me fuck someone."

"I didn't mean-- I thought--" Dean stared out the window, his eyes actually focused on reflections in the glass. Castiel was toying with his coat, and he looked... nervous?

Even freshly drunk, even as thick as he was sometimes, Dean got it. A thrill ran through his body, to pool as heat below his gut. Images from drunken encounters, dark rooms and roaming hands, flashed through his mind unbidden. He shook his head. _That's not who I am_ , he thought staunchly. _I am a tiger in_ ladies' _beds, and that is it for me._

_Not that you haven't thought about it..._ His mind flashed back, and embarrassment flamed on his cheeks. So many times, a hot shower. One hand on the wall. Mind full of...

"Castiel," he said, turning, taking a few steps, "I'm just not..."

"But you are. Look." The angel gestured. Dean looked down, and saw an unmistakeable bulge in the front of his jeans. Furious, mortified, he turned away, raising the bottle to his lips and drinking until he needed air.

"Dean!" Castiel's voice was sharp. And closer. He now stood beside Dean, one hand on the bottle. "This will not help." Dean wrenched it away, took another defiant swig. He knew he was being childish, but--

Cas was touching his arm, then, and the calloused fingers on his bare skin made every hair prickle. Dean felt... charged, somehow. Light, energetic... and full of desire.

He turned to Castiel, suspicion warring with wonder in his eyes. "What are you doing to me?"

"Helping," said the angel simply. He moved his hand, sliding up Dean's arm ever so slightly, and guided the hunter to turn and face him. 

Dean felt lost. "You can't --" he stammered "I don't --"

Castiel smiled, a pure expression, and it was so beautiful that Dean's protests died in his throat. His hand moved of its own accord to Castiel's cheek, and the angel leaned in to his touch.

"I can't create desire, Dean." The blue eyes shone earnestly. "I can only amplify what's already there."

Dean's mouth worked, but no sound emerged. Once he met Castiel's gaze, he couldn't look away. The rising tide within him was becoming unbearable. His lips parted, and he panted slightly, sliding his hand around to grasp the back of Castiel's neck. His fingers threaded through the angel's hair, and Castiel's eyelids fluttered.

"Dean..." he breathed, his voice so low and full of fire that it struck the hunter's nerves in a symphony of chords. Dean couldn't stand the tension anymore. He pulled Castiel to him and captured his lips in a crushing kiss.

The angel's "unph!" and inhale told him he was on the right track, and Dean threw his other arm, bottle and all, around Castiel's waist to slam their bodies together. He could feel the angel getting harder through his thin suit trousers, and Dean's own jeans were fast becoming unbearable. He hazily considered taking them off.

Castiel broke the kiss, breathing hard. Mussed hair, flushed skin, dilated pupils -- he was the most beautiful thing Dean had seen in a good long while. 

"I need you, Dean," Castiel said, in his serious, deliberate way -- it sounded just like it had when Dean imagined it, and affected him just as much. He growled, low in his throat, and pulled Castiel to him again, bringing his lips to the angel's neck and suckling, hard, until Castiel's knees buckled and a mewling moan escaped him. Dean resurfaced with a feral grin, loving the look of dawning comprehension on the angel's face.

He stepped back briefly to place the bottle on the table. When he broke contact, doubt briefly resurfaced, but he drowned it with another shot. _You've known for awhile that what you wanted was this, with him_ , he told himself sternly. _Ever since Cas appeared in that barn, you've known. Don't waste the opportunity just because you're afraid._

_Fear can be overridden._

And then Castiel was there, hands roaming over Dean's arms, his chest, snaking up under his shirt to grasp his sides and pull him closer. The angel was almost desperately needy, his tongue darting into Dean's mouth. Dean snapped back from the kiss, smiling, and took his shirt off. 

Castiel's eyes roamed over every inch of his skin, lingering on his tattoo. One pale hand grasped his left shoulder. "This is where I gripped you, when I raised you from perdition," he murmured huskily. A wave of power emanated from his hand and washed through Dean, who shuddered. “This... you are amazing,” he said, stroking Castiel's hair. The angel smiled shyly, an adorable look on him, and Dean swooped in to nip his earlobe. That got a definite reaction – Castiel's back arched, shoving his body into Dean's, and when Dean did it again Castiel bucked his hips. Hardness collided and Dean lost his breath in a rush of exhalation and sudden heat.

“God, Dean...” Castiel was drowning in the sensations. He just wanted to feel more.

Unthinking, he said, “The images from Jimmy were so vague, I had no idea...”

Dean's head snapped up, pupils receding, expression rapidly darkening. He took a step back.

“Is Jimmy in there?”

Castiel could have burned himself alive. Of course Dean wouldn't consider his vessel, after so long. He looked at the body before him and didn't see Jimmy Novak inhabited by an angel – he saw Castiel. _Humans are like that, you fool_ , he scolded himself with growing dread. _You just reminded him that the face he's looking at does not belong to you._

_You've ruined everything._

Castiel schooled his face – Jimmy's face! – to be calm. “Jimmy doesn't pay attention to much out here,” he said carefully. “He cannot feel anything that this body feels – otherwise the immense pain that I am able to endure would drive him mad.”

“So he can't... but does he... does he mind?” Dean was well into his drunk, now, and that combined with the enhanced chemical reactions provided by Castiel's touch was making it incredibly difficult to think straight. But the thought of Jimmy Novak in there screaming because his body was being used against his will to... do things... was disturbing, to say the least.

Castiel shook his head. “He hasn't even surfaced in awhile. His consciousness... it's difficult to explain.” His eyes were sorrowful. “I did not mean to spoil the moment, Dean.”

“So long as you... wait, can angels even feel this way? Or are you just feeling the way Jimmy would be feeling?”

“Dean.” Castiel's eyes flared blue and he was suddenly right there, his chest pressing against Dean's, surprisingly hot. “This is me, and this is what I want. You feel what I'm doing to you? It goes both ways.”

Dean glanced away, ardor rising, still unsure but thisclose to not caring. Castiel touched his face, hesitantly at first, then with conviction, stroking the hunter's cheek. “I can't make you feel this good...” he ran his other hand up Dean's arm, “...without doing something to myself.”

On impulse the angel leaned over, his hands sliding down over Dean's skin, and flicked his tongue across one pert nipple. 

It was like fire and ice shooting down his body. Dean gasped, yanked Castiel's head up, and kissed him, hard. Their teeth clashed together but neither cared as both tongues battled amid desperate lips.

He wanted this. He needed this.

They both did.

Suddenly everything was a flurry of roaming hands and discarded clothing. Dean divested Castiel of the worn trench coat, rumpled button-down shirt, and loose tie, so that he stood in the middle of the room, bare chest heaving, trying to figure out his own pants. His fingers didn't seem to want to work. “Is this – I can't --”

Dean grinned. “Let me.” He made short work of the belt and zipper, and shucked them off.

And his grin got wider.

“Hmm, so the angel goes commando.”

Confusion flickered through the flushed abandon written on Castiel's face. “I don't know what that means.”

“Don't worry about it, babe,” Dean purred, gliding forward and sliding his hand over Castiel's cock. With the contact, anything that wasn't those incredible eyes fluttering closed flew from Dean's mind. The angel's mouth slacked open and he thrust, hard, into Dean's hand. His hands clenched on the hunter's biceps, digging into the muscles, and his hips worked frantically.

Dean was loving the feel of him, the smooth skin, the incredible heat. He never consciously made the decision to fall to his knees, but when he slid his mouth around Castiel's throbbing cock, the angel let out a strangled groan and scrabbled to find purchase in Dean's hair. He slid his hands around the hunter's head and shoved himself deeper, mindless in this new pleasure.

Pleased to find he had less of a gag reflex than he might have thought, Dean began to work his tongue and throat around Castiel's cock, loving the sounds the angel made. He reached down into his jeans and freed his own hard-on, closing his eyes as he matched the rhythm of his strokes to the thrusting in his mouth. For a few moments they were moving in tandem, pleasure spiking and reverberating through the power of Castiel's touch.

Then Castiel was lifting him up, strong beyond measure in his passion, and he wrestled Dean to the bed, lips seeking lips. They tumbled on to the soft surface, every touch exploding across their skin. Castiel's cock slid across the rough fabric of the hunter's jeans and he cried out, rolling to the side. He bit his lip, and as Dean propped himself up on his elbows to watch, he scooted and lowered his head to the hunter's crotch and began removing the offending jeans with his teeth. The sight of his angel at work sent a new wave of passion washing over him, and Dean threw his head back. 

He gasped when his jeans disappeared, his sensitive bits exposed to the open air. Then tentative lips slid over his cock, and he moaned, low in his distended throat. Castiel flicked his tongue over the sensitive head, and Dean's arms gave out. He grasped helplessly at the covers, writhing and gasping, sounds tearing from his throat that he never thought he'd hear himself make. He'd had his dick sucked before, but this was something else entirely. 

"You are way too good at this--" he managed, one hand finding Castiel's hair. The angel stopped his ministrations long enough to grin wildly and grate out, "I'm a quick study," before sheathing Dean to the hilt in his mouth and humming. There was power behind it. Dean felt himself cresting, approaching release, but he didn't want to come yet. Not yet.

"Hey, hey," he said, his voice strained, "leave up a bit, I--" Castiel drew his lips back up the shaft and off with a succulent pop, and the sight of him rearing up with tousled hair, lust-darkened eyes and blow-job lips made Dean's cock twinge. He made the conscious decision to remember that sight forever, and then led Castiel back up into another breath-stealing kiss as he rolled them over. Their erections slid against each other and waves of heat shot through them both. Cas moaned into Dean's mouth, and the hunter took the angel's bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled it as his hand stole between their legs. 

Castiel was hot and firm in his hand, and the noises he made as Dean jerked him off were exquisite. The angel was very vocal. Dean smirked to think of the neighboring hotel rooms.

Lifting Castiel's leg over his own, he licked his fingers suggestively. The angel's eyes went wide. "What-- are you--?" Dean gave a low laugh that made Castiel bite his lower lip, a new flush spreading across his cheeks, and the hunter leaned in for a languorous kiss as his hand stole between his angel's legs. When he ran his fingertip over the tight entrance, Castiel arched into him, causing their erections to collide with delightful friction. "Dean, I--" he moaned. "Shh," the hunter replied, kissing him again. "Just relax."

And he pressed his first finger inside.

Castiel was tight, too tight, but he didn't seem to feel uncomfortable. His face was glowing -- somewhat literally -- and his hand had found Dean's cock. Dean had to concentrate in order to keep from bucking his hips -- the angel's grip was amazing -- as he slowly stretched Castiel's orifice. When he finger was in up to the second knuckle he crooked it just right, and the angel all but screamed. "Holy fuck, Dean!"

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. "Angel has a dirty mouthohhh god..." Castiel had latched on to his neck again and was suckling furiously, his breathing rough. "You want me to keep going?" the hunter growled, and without ceasing his ministrations Castiel nodded emphatically.

Dean added a second finger, and a third. Every so often he'd curl them and brush his angel's prostate, and his angel would buck and curse and beg for more. Finally, Castiel was stretched enough to allow him entry. Dean's cock was weeping with anticipation.

He rose up on his knees, crawling around to position himself behind the angel, when Castiel caught his hand. His eyes were mostly pupil, darkness brilliantly encircled by a strand of radiant, glowing blue. "Don't be gentle," he pleaded, his voice striking Dean's every nerve. He felt his eyes roll up, pleasure rising, and he grabbed his angel roughly by the hips and sank into him up to the hilt.

This time Castiel did scream, a rich, raw sound of pure sexual delight that reverberated within the room, within Dean's bones. His muscles clenched around Dean's cock and the hunter lost it, drawing out and then slamming back in, over and over, reveling in the sounds his angel made. Castiel chanted Dean's name like a mantra in time with his thrusts, and as his voice rose in pitch and fervor Dean was close, so close--

His orgasm hit them both like a train hitting the ocean, a sudden plunge into staggering, shivering ecstasy. He filled his angel past the brimming point, hot come squirting around his cock and between their legs. He reached around blindly to grasp the angel's erection and it was close, too, swollen and ready--

Castiel grabbed his hand as he slid forward, freeing Dean's thinning cock. "No, Dean," he said, rolling over to face his hunter. "I want to give you the gift you gave me."

Dean paused. His release had sobered him up a bit, and he honestly hadn't considered being on the receiving end. In this aspect, he was still a virgin.

"Uh, I don't--" he began, but Castiel silenced him with a kiss. "I will take care of you," he said, and the light from his eyes was enough. Dean nodded, gulping slightly, and brought his leg over the angel's, allowing him access. When a questing finger rubbed gently over his entrance he closed his eyes and tried to relax. 

"Dean," Castiel said softly. "Look at me."

Dean opened his eyes, and saw Castiel basking in the sight of him. If he affected the angel as much as the angel affected him... the finger entered him, slightly, and a gasp escaped him. It was weird, too weird, and his flight instinct kicked in, he was pulling away--

Castiel grasped his face in his free hand, forcing Dean to meet his eyes, and slid the finger in, crooking it in the same way Dean had earlier.

Dean's world exploded. 

White-hot, surging sexual agony ripped through his body. Every muscle taut, Dean bucked into Castiel, his cock hardening and sliding against the angel's own rock-hard erection, creating even more sparks along his nerves. Dean couldn't see. He stared wildly at nothing. As Castiel added another finger and did -- that -- again, Dean's frenzied mind lost all focus and became a singular point of pure desire. He sought Castiel's mouth with his and kissed him hungrily, tearing a moan from the angel that tickled at the base of his spine. 

Suddenly Cas was kneeling between Dean's legs, positioning himself, shoving inside. Dean could tell he was being careful, and was grateful for it even as a larger part of him wanted the angel to just move faster. He bucked his hips backward, almost reflexively, and clenched around Castiel's cock. The angel let out a startled cry and drove forward, fast, striking Dean's prostate again but with much greater force.

It was Dean's turn to scream.

The sound tore from his throat and left him panting. It was more of a howl, really, a deep, bright sound that rang in his ears even as he made others, little punctuated groans that rose in volume and intensity as Castiel established a steady rhythm and struck his prostate every time.

Moments, eons passed. There was nothing but the rhythm of their bodies, the slickness of their sweat, the staccato murmur of their breath. Dean couldn't believe that something he'd considered so odd would feel so incredible. His mind reeled even as his hips worked and he forgot everything, his name, where they were, everything but the angel behind him, fucking him into the next world.

Arms encircled him. Warm skin, breath on his ear. "Every time you touched yourself, you called my name," Castiel growled, thrusting in emphasis. Dean was so lost in what he was feeling he had to focus on each word. "You prayed to me, Dean," the angel roared, "pray to me now!"

"Castiel!" Dean sobbed, finding his voice. "Oh, Cas-- Cas!" He was gone, nothing but lust and pleasure and his singing nerves. The angel reached around and grasped his cock, yanked once, and it was done.

"CASTIEEELLL!"

His body was breath, and light, and lightning. The orgasm gripped him like a vice and shook him harder than anything ever had. Castiel thrust once, twice more, hit the prostate again and came himself, shivering his release into Dean with a choked cry and then falling to cover the hunter's body with his own. Dean had no words, no voice. He twitched violently, sighed.

_The ceiling is covered in stars_ , he thought, _and Cas put them there_.

Then he fell unconscious, and thought nothing.

 

When he woke there was sunlight streaming through the open curtains. Dean realized immediately that he was alone in the bed, and scrambled up, looking around blearily. There was no one else there.

Loss and loneliness hit him at the same time, and he curled into a ball. _What am I, a girl?_ he thought miserably, hiding his face from the sun.

“Dean?” The graveled voice held a new note, that made it fuller than before.

Dean looked up and saw his angel, fully clothed, standing in the room holding coffees and a sack of food. Castiel cocked his head to the side. “Are you all right?”

Rather than sobbing and throwing his arms around Castiel like he suddenly and almost inexplicably wanted to, Dean sat up and grinned. “So I suppose you understand now?”

Quicker than blinking the food was on the table and the angel was on the bed. “I do,” he whispered hotly in Dean's ear.

The coffee was cold by the time they thought to drink it.

 

FIN


End file.
